


And all I loved, I loved alone.

by PawnToBishop4 (AbsolutelyNotAlex)



Category: The Queen's Gambit (TV)
Genre: 1960s, Also I refuse to believe that Benny doesn't drive a stick shift, Beth is kinda Fucked Up (TM), Canon Compliant, Chess, F/M, Getting Back Together, I mean come on he's a chess cowboy, Idiots in Love, Intimacy, Making Up, Post-Canon, no beta we die like women, only a little
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:26:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29077815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbsolutelyNotAlex/pseuds/PawnToBishop4
Summary: 'People say one can't love alone, but they're wrong. Beth has done it her whole life.'Wherein Beth comes back from Moscow to find a certain someone on her doorstep, and things ensue.
Relationships: Beth Harmon & Jolene, Beth Harmon/Benny Watts
Comments: 29
Kudos: 152
Collections: Beth and Benny (The Queen's Gambit)





	And all I loved, I loved alone.

Beth doesn’t return home immediately after Moscow. Partially because going straight from playing Russian masters to sitting around in Alma’s old housecoat would be too much of a shock, and partially because she’s not sure where home is now. It could be in Lexington, in her house with her trophies and her mother’s piano, or it could be in a couchless basement apartment in New York city drinking instant coffee out of paper cups. Instead of biting the bullet and calling the owner of the aforementioned apartment, or going to see him, she settles on Louisville. 

When Jolene opens the door, she pulls Beth into a hug, which Beth returns.

“You won!” 

“Here’s your three thousand dollars. And you can have the purple dress.”

“Shit, Beth.”

“White’s more my color.” 

They go out for lunch, and Beth tells Jolene all about Moscow, and everything that came before it. 

“I just don’t know what to do now. Or where to go.”

“Go get your man! If I was you, I’d have already done gone and got married. But go home first. You’re still dressed like we’re in fucking Siberia.”

“Thank you, Jolene.” 

“You’re welcome, Cracker.”

“I promise I’ll call more. And come visit, too.”

“Shit, you better.”

With that, Beth leaves for Lexington. In the taxi, she sheds her coat and hat, because Southern winters are strange things; t-shirt weather one day and below freezing the next. She puts the discarded articles in her suitcase, and tries to ignore the fact that her body is telling her it is seven in the evening. The traffic is bad, so the drive ends up taking almost an hour. Beth hands the driver a five dollar tip, and when she walks up the path to her house, she freezes in shock when she sees the pirate-cowboy sitting on her front steps, knife and all. 

“Why, hello Beth.”

Somehow she manages to reply with, “why, hello Benny.” Beth isn’t usually an outwardly emotional person, but she can’t help it when her voice breaks a little as she says his name.

Benny stands and points an accusatory finger at her. 

“Your neighbors,” he says, “are fucking awful. The woman next door almost called the cops on me because she said I looked like a thief.”

She laughs, and she’s so relieved that he’s  _ here  _ that she thinks she might collapse.

“You missed your flight.”

“I was playing chess.”

The corners of his mouth twitch upwards. “Your agent had a great time explaining that. I’m also told there’s a press tour you should be headed for right now.”

“I don’t want to be paraded around the country or play chess with the president or Billy Graham or the goddamn Pope. Fuck ‘em.”

Benny blinks, and she falls silent, suddenly aware of everything that sits between them. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, softer, “for everything. I should have gone back to New York when you asked me to, and I should have let you come with me to Russia when you asked, and I should have flushed those pills a long damn time ago.” 

Benny seems slightly unsure of how to respond. “You don’t need me. You beat Borgov on your own, and you got sober on your own.”

She has to take a breath to prepare herself for what she’s about to say.

“Maybe not… but I missed you.”

“Fuck, Harmon. You had to wait until now to say that?”

“You told me not to call again.”

“I still would’ve answered if you had.”

Beth rummages through her handbag for her keys, and instead of a response she holds the door open. An invitation to let him see her world, her life; the things that a few people have seen pieces of, and she’s offering him the whole thing. An olive branch, which Benny takes as he steps across the threshold. He looks around as Beth shuts the door behind him, and she can’t help but smile at the sight. Alma likely never would have let him in the house. They don’t talk about how long he’ll be staying, she just shows him upstairs to her old room. 

“What are you going to do?” He asks. 

“I need a shower. And groceries. In that order.” 

“I meant after that.”

“Play chess,” she says.

  
  


Beth looks like shit. She hasn’t slept in over thirty-six hours, since before her flight. There are bags under her eyes, which are puffy and pink. All it takes is a glance in the mirror to know that there’s no point in putting on makeup. It’s around sixty degrees in Lexington, one of those odd warm days during winter, so Beth skips the dresses and skirts in favor of jeans and a plain shirt. She dries her hair, but she’s jet-lagged and can’t be bothered meticulously styling it like usual. She ties a scarf into it and calls it a day. 

When she walks by the open door, she sees that Benny hasn’t left her old room. He’s crouched down looking at the books on one of the shelves. She leans against the doorframe.

“Have you read all these?” He asks.

“No.”

“Well, you should.”

“Probably, but I’m done with theory for at least a week.” 

When he doesn’t reply, Beth speaks again. 

“Well, my kitchen’s wiped out, so I’m going to the grocery store.”

“Do you need me to drive you?”

“No, I always walk. But you can come if you like.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather get drunk?” 

He says it without malice, and Beth knows he deserves to get at least a couple good jabs in after what she did to him, but it still stings. Mentally she searches for a response and settles on the honest truth. 

“Me being drunk is what got us here in the first place.”

Then he asks the question she’s been dreading. “And where is here, exactly?”

“I… don’t know.” 

Beth doesn’t linger in the doorway any longer after that. She slips on a pair of shoes left by the door and leaves. She tears up as she walks out of the house, but she blinks a few times and keeps moving. The last time she’d cried was at Mr. Shaibel’s funeral, as she and Jolene sat outside that miserable orphanage. Crying just never made her feel any better, and most times that was enough to keep the tears at bay, but not with Benny.

As she walks into the grocery store, she sees Harry, out of his office for once. She waves, and only when his eyes widen in horrified shock does she remember how she looks. 

“Beth,” he says, “please don’t tell me you’re back on the-”

She cuts him off. “No! No. I’ve been sober since before Moscow. I just haven’t readjusted to the time yet.”

“Oh. Well, that’s good. Speaking of Moscow, congratulations on beating Borgov! I knew you could do it.”

“Thank you. And you all helped, you know.”

“That was mostly Benny’s doing. Beth, I don’t know what happened between you two but something messed him up.”

At the mention of his name, Beth looks guiltily down at the floor. 

“What?” Harry asks.

“When I was spiraling after Paris, I said some things, and he told me not to call him back. Obviously he called while I was in Russia, and then when I got home today he was on my porch. I apologized for everything, but things still aren’t right.”

“He’ll come around. He needs you. And speaking as someone who will always be a little in love with you, he’d be a fool to turn you down.”

After that, Harry leaves her to do her shopping and contemplate the bombshell he’d just dropped on her. She picks up everything she thinks she’ll need, then heads home. When she gets inside, she gently kicks the door shut behind her and slips off her shoes. She sees Benny sitting at the dining room table sans coat, hat, and boots. 

Silently he stands and pulls a box of teabags out of one bag. 

“Those go in the left cabinet.” She tells him. 

When the groceries are all put away, she goes back upstairs and pulls Borgov’s king out of her bag, then puts it on the piano with the other trophies. She is prevented from wondering what to do by the phone ringing. 

“Hello, Miss Harmon.” 

She recognizes the voice instantly. “Mr. Luchenko?”

“ _ Da _ . I heard you would be home by now and wanted to congratulate you on your victory, as I did not get to speak to you after your game with Borgov.”

“Thank you.”

“Do not stop loving chess. That is all I have to say. After all, this call costs money and you did take home a lot of it.” They both laugh good-naturedly and he hangs up the phone. She puts the receiver back on the cradle, then goes into the kitchen where Benny still leans against the counter. 

“Help yourself to anything in the kitchen,” Beth says with a yawn, “I’m going to bed.”

“It’s four in the afternoon.”

“Well, for me it feels like midnight and I haven’t slept in almost two days.” 

Benny reaches out and catches her by the shoulder, and it sends a shock down her whole arm. It’s all she can do to shake off his grip and get up the stairs before the tears come. She collapses to her knees on the floor of her room and claps a hand over her mouth to try and muffle the sobs. As soon as Benny had touched her, she was hit with memories of similar touches after a game, or standing outside his room being asked if she still liked his hair, and she just  _ knew  _ that if he left his hand on her shoulder she was going to grab ahold of him and not let go. 

Clearly her attempts to quieten her cries aren’t working, because she hears him come bounding up the stairs. She’s relieved that she had the sense to lock the door behind her. He calls her name a few times, but eventually he goes silent. She tiredly changes into a nightgown and stumbles into bed, and finally drifts off to sleep.

  
  


Beth wakes up fourteen hours later at six in the morning and groggily pulls on the same clothes from the day before. When she goes down to make breakfast, she sees that Benny’s already up, wearing only a pair of blue jeans and the usual jewelry. He’s looking at the picture of her with Mr. Shaibel, which she’d had framed and hung on a wall. 

“Beth-” he starts to speak but she moves past him into the kitchen and starts to make scrambled eggs. 

“I’m fine, Benny.” It’s absolutely a lie, and he probably knows it, but he lets it slide. “I’ll make breakfast, and then we’ll play.” 

They eat their eggs in silence, then set up Beth’s board on the couch in between them. Beth’s moves are random, erratic. Benny plays as he always does. Beth wins the first three games they play, and the fourth ends in a draw. After he wins the fifth and sixth games, Benny speaks. 

“Alright, enough.” 

Beth can’t bring herself to meet his eyes. 

“I know emotions are neither of our strong suits, but we need to talk about this.”

“Alright. Why are you here?”

“Because after Russia, I had to see you. Even if you threw me out on my ass, I had to try.”

Beth swallows, and jerkily tucks a piece of hair behind her hair. 

“What do you want from me, Beth?”

A hundred answers flit through her mind.  _ Nothing. Everything.  _ For the second time, she decides on blunt honesty.

“Whatever you want to give.”

When Benny speaks next, for the first time ever, she hears genuine insecurity in his voice.

“Why won’t you let me get near you? Or touch you?”

“Because I know I couldn’t handle it if you changed your mind. If you decided you didn’t want me after all. I’d go back to the pills and the wine, and I don’t know if I’d be able to stop again.” 

When he hears her admission, something passes over his face, and he picks up the chessboard and sets it on the coffee table. 

“What are you doing.” It’s not quite a question. 

He leans forward and silently pulls Beth into his lap, wrapping both arms tightly around her. 

“I don’t plan on changing my mind,” he says quietly, “so if you want to leave that’s your call.”

Beth is still stiff as he holds her, but eventually she relaxes. She never thought she’d be the type to enjoy it, or that Benny would either, for that matter, but it’s nice. Some of the weight leaves her chest. 

  
  


Beth doesn’t play chess for three days, and it drives her up a wall. It’s Benny’s idea, surprisingly.

“You need a break from chess,” he says, draped languidly across the couch reading.

“What?” She looks up from the game she’s playing against herself.

“You just beat all the Russian masters. Your brain is fried, if yesterday was any indication. I can still win sometimes, but you never should’ve let me get away with it twice in a row.” 

She sighs. “Alright.”

Beth stands and moves to the piano. Her mother had taught her the basics, insisting that she have a ‘normal hobby,’ but she hadn’t played often except for when she was missing Alma. She’d picked it back up while she was trying to get sober, and although she was definitely no master, she thought she was decent. 

Benny looks up again. “I didn’t know you played piano.”

“Alma taught me a bit, and it was something to do to distract me from the cravings. You have to focus, but at the same time it’s easy to lose yourself in it.”

“Sounds like chess.”

“It is. Or maybe I just like patterns in black and white.”

He goes back to his book, and Beth plays a few scales to warm up before starting an actual song. It’s some classical piece she can’t remember the name of, but it’s easy and she has it memorized. She remembers gawking from the stairs as Alma sat in the same spot she sits now and played. She doesn’t realize that she’s finished the song until her brain checks back in and her fingers are doing something entirely different. She much prefers improvising over sheet music; it’s more enjoyable to play whatever she can think of within the key, instead of trying to recreate what someone else has already written. Much like when she plays chess, letting the moves come to her. Perhaps Benny was right, and the two aren’t so dissimilar.

  
  


Benny listens to country music. Beth supposes it shouldn’t be a surprise, considering he looks like a cowboy and he carries a  _ fucking knife,  _ but it is. She’s sitting on the couch shaving her legs with a bowl of warm water when Flowers On The Wall by the Statler Brothers comes on, and he abandons his game and pulls her to her feet. Before she can question anything, he’s spinning her around the room as he sings along. Then she’s shocked again because Benny not only listens to country music, he  _ dances.  _ The song ends, and he goes straight back to his game as Beth collapses in giggles back onto the couch. 

  
  


After three days of not playing chess, Beth is done. She knows Harry and Townes would both be glad she’d taken a break, but she only has so many things to do before she’ll go crazy and break something else. That morning, she flops bonelessly down on the couch in front of Benny, making him look up from the newest copy of  _ Chess Review.  _

“Yes?” He asks.

“Let’s play.”

“Time control?”

“No. Let’s just go.”

“Alright.”

He wins the first time. She’s so excited to be playing again that she’s hardly paying attention, but she gets him back the next game. She gives him a good thrashing in thirteen moves. 

“Fuck, Harmon.” 

She flicks his king down and smiles sweetly. 

  
  


Benny’s stay in Lexington is nothing like Beth’s five weeks in New York. The apartment had been a bubble; somewhere Beth could hide from her life and all she had to do was focus on chess. This is different. They aren’t hiding from anything, because he’s made himself a part of her life, more than anyone had been since Alma. He walks with her to the grocery store, although he grumbles (“Why won’t you let me drive you?” To which she replies, “it’s two blocks, Benny,”). They take turns cooking and cleaning, and Beth learns how to live with another person. No more sneaking up and down the stairs like she did before Alma died, and no more long stretches of silence or shutting herself in her room like she did after. He even answers the phone sometimes, which nearly ends in disaster once when Jolene calls and opens with her usual greeting (“Hey, Cracker!” Benny’s eyes widen and he says “ _ Excuse me?” _ ), and Beth has to step in. It’s wonderful.

They go back to playing tournaments because although they could play each other forever and Beth has no shortage of money, Alma’s ways did rub off on her. She plays the Kentucky State Championship, even though she’s already won it, because it has a special place in her heart. She tries to convince Harry to play, for old times sake, but is ultimately unsuccessful. When she tries to buy plane tickets to Seattle for an upcoming tournament, Benny outright refuses. 

“I’m not flying if I don’t have to.”

“You do realize it’s a three-day drive, right?” Beth quips.

“So you leave three days early.”

She sighs. “Alright.”

  
  


Somehow, Benny’s Beetle seems like it’s in worse condition than the last time she saw it. She climbs into the passenger’s seat and pulls the door closed, but it doesn’t shut all the way. 

“You have to slam it,” Benny says.

She tries again.

_ “Slam it.”  _

She jerks on it as hard as she can, and it finally latches. 

“So violent.”

Beth rolls her eyes, and Benny laughs. 

  
  


They spend the first leg of their journey playing mental chess, like they did on the drive to New York. She’s currently about to win for the fourth time in a row. 

“What’s your move?” She asks.

“Uh,” he flounders, “Bishop takes pawn.”

“Knight takes rook.”

“King to king’s rook one.”

“Queen to king’s knight seven. That’s mate.”

“Dammit.”

“I know. I don’t know why you let me get away with that.”

  
  


The hotel room they stay in after the first day of driving has two beds. Beth doesn’t know what else she was expecting; if anything she should be surprised Benny didn’t book two rooms. They haven’t shared a bed in either sense of the word since he came to Kentucky, and they haven’t even kissed since New York. She wonders if he doesn’t want her at all, or if he simply wants to give her the option of her own space. 

He showers first, then claims the bed closer to the door. Beth showers next, but she doesn’t style her hair since she knows they have another two days of driving to go. Benny sits reading the latest copy of  _ Chess Review,  _ shirtless. She stands in the doorway, unsure of whether to head towards the bed nearest the window or sit next to him. Her question is answered when he puts the magazine on the end table and gestures towards the spot next to him.

“Are you just gonna stand there gawking all night?”

As soon as she’s under the covers, he pulls her in for a searing kiss. After two rounds, the people below them start banging on the ceiling. 

Needless to say, they don’t get much sleep that night, and there will be no more hotel rooms with two beds.

  
  


“My hair looks awful,” Beth remarks as she gets dressed the next morning. 

“That just means I did my job right.” Benny winks and she blushes scarlet. 

“Can I drive?” She asks on the way to the car.

“Once we get out of town. Watch me for now.”

As he drives, he explains what to do and how to change gears, and when they get to a long stretch of road with nothing but fields around, he pulls over and they switch. He notices her struggling with the shifter as she tries to get the car out of neutral and into first gear.

“You have to manhandle it a little.”

She hits it with the heel of her hand and it pops into gear. She goes to move her hand back to the steering wheel, and he covers it with his, shaking his head.

“Leave this hand over here until you get it into a higher gear and you don’t have to shift anymore.”

Beth glances doubtfully at him.

“You beat Vasily Borgov, you can drive with one hand.”

She can, as it turns out, because he doesn’t let go, even after she’s got the hang of it. 

They ride in silence for a while before Benny speaks.

“Ok, talk about something. Watching you drive in a straight line is putting me to sleep.”

“Talk about what?”

“I don’t know, something interesting. Moscow?”

“You’ve heard about Moscow.”

“No, I’ve heard about Borgov.”

“Alright, well, let’s see. I couldn’t go many places, especially since the CIA sent an agent with me. Although, I think he gave up by the end. That’s why I missed my flight, actually. We were on the way to the airport and I just decided to take a walk.”

Benny laughs. “Of course you did.”

“Anyway, I found this park, and there were a bunch of old men there playing chess. One of them recognized me, so I shook their hands, and there was one man who hadn’t stood up like the rest of them. He was just sitting there, and he reminded me of Mr. Shaibel, so I sat down and we played.”

“Who won?”

“It was a draw.” 

  
  


When they finally get to Seattle, any anonymity Beth previously had is gone. Now a champion, she’s swarmed by reporters, photographers, and fans. Being with Benny doesn’t help matters, considering the fact that he’s not exactly inconspicuous. The press has a fit at the fact they’re there together, but neither of them comment on it. After fighting through the crowd, they manage to make it to their room. It’s going to be a long three days, and that thought makes Beth yearn for the bubble of the car.

  
  


Back in Kentucky, Beth decides that playing a few less tournaments couldn’t hurt, but the need to do something other than sit around is still there, so one day she takes a walk down to her old high school. She asks the lady in the office if they still have a chess club, and when the lady says yes she asks who runs it. The lady says the students do, and Beth asks if she could take it on. Tuesday of the next week at three thirty, she finds herself sitting in a vaguely familiar classroom in front of a group of students. They are mostly boys, but there are three girls among their ranks, which pleases her. 

It’s an absolute mess; a few of them don’t even know how all of the pieces move, while others are actually decent. She decides to start from scratch, which proves to be a good call because some of the students aren’t as knowledgeable as they thought, but at least by the time it’s over everyone knows the rules. As she packs up her own board and pieces, she notices that there is still one person left in the room. He’s tall and muscular, and hadn’t said much to anyone, but he did appear to know what he was doing at least a little. 

“What’s your name?” She asks him.

“I’m Jason.” He has the classic lilting southeastern accent, and he  _ sounds  _ like he’s from Kentucky.

“Do you have a way home?”

“My mama thinks I’m at basketball practice. I was just gonna stay around here for awhile.”

“Oh.” Beth pauses for a moment, thinking. “Would you like to walk home with me? I don’t think the school would be happy with you being here alone this late, and we can get some extra practice in.”

He looks surprised for a moment. “If you’re sure it's no trouble…”

“Of course.” Beth slings her purse over her shoulder and they walk. 

As they head down the street, they talk.

“How much do you know about chess?”

“Enough to know the rules. And enough to know you’re a Grandmaster.”

“Well, then there’s someone else at home who I think you’ll like to meet.”

“Who?”

“You’ll see.”

He seems hesitant as Beth opens the door to the little blue house, but she ushers him in. 

“You can put your things down over there,” she tells him. 

At that moment, Benny comes in from the kitchen holding a glass of water.

“What’s going on?” He asks.

“Benny, this is Jason. He’s in the chess club at Fairfield High School.” 

Jason gawks. “Are you Benny Watts?”

“Yes, I am.” Benny extends a hand, which he shakes. 

They spend two hours together, with Beth and Benny on the couch, Jason in an armchair, and a board on the coffee table between them. After that he says he should leave, and he walks home. As Benny locks the door behind him, he turns to Beth. 

“Well, that was nice of you to do.”

“He lives alone with his mom. She wants him to play sports, but he wants to play chess. She thinks he’s been at basketball practice. If I had just left, he would’ve stayed at the school by himself. He said he hides copies of  _ Chess Review  _ under his bed.”

Benny’s lips twitch upward like they do when he’s fighting a real smile, and after that, Jason walks home with Beth every Tuesday. 

  
  


Beth falls into a routine. She oversees Fairfield’s chess club twice a week now, Tuesdays and Thursdays. Jason eventually tells his mother the truth about where he’s been, but he keeps walking home with Beth anyways. On Wednesdays, she calls Jolene, and twice a month she makes the drive to Louisville and they play squash. As the days go by, winter gives way to the humid, rainy weather that is springtime in Kentucky. It’s warm, and the rain becomes a sort of constant background noise. 

On one of the rare clear nights, they sit on the porch playing chess. Last Date by Floyd Cramer is playing quietly on the radio, and Benny taps one finger along with the music. As she stares at him analyzing the board, she feels something akin to pressure in her chest. The next breath she takes is shaky and forced. Benny apparently notices, because he looks up at her, but she recovers herself and he doesn’t ask. 

  
  


Most people describe love as some joyous, happy, bubbly feeling. Beth thinks that’s a load of bullshit. For her, love is a clawing pain in her chest, something lodged in her throat, or a pit that opens up in her stomach. It’s painful, and desperate. People say one can’t love alone, but they’re wrong. Beth has done it her whole life. She tells Jolene about it after one of their squash games, and Jolene laughs. 

“Man, Cracker, we’re fucked up, aren’t we?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m waitin’ on a married man, and you’re  _ actually  _ lovesick.”

“I suppose.”

They sit in contented quiet for a moment, then Beth speaks again.

“So what do I do?”

“Well ain’t it obvious? You gotta tell him.”

“Jolene, what if-”

“No.  _ If _ it goes wrong, then you can be upset about it.”

“Alright.”

“Enough of that. Go get your cowboy.”

  
  


Beth is on edge for the rest of the day. The rain lashes mercilessly against the house, unrelenting, as she and Benny sit in the living room reading. Well, Benny is reading; Beth is trying to fight past the lump in her throat to tell him what she needs to say. She stands to get a glass of water, and in the kitchen she braces her forearms against the counter and focuses on breathing through the tightness in her chest. She doesn’t realize how long she stays like that until she hears Benny come into the kitchen. She looks up. 

“Beth,” he says, and she wonders how you can say so much in one syllable.

She forces herself to inhale, and tries not to gasp. 

“What’s wrong?” He crosses the room in a fraction of a second and puts a hand on her elbow. The contact is too much and she seems to cough the words out.

_ “I love you.”  _ She chokes. 

There is a beat of silence, with no sound but the rain before she looks up at his face. Neither of them are breathing. 

“I love you.” Beth repeats. It comes out easier the second time. 

“Do you have any idea,” Benny says quietly, “how long I’ve been waiting for you to say that?”

Her breath hitches as he steps closer.

“I love you too, Beth.” 

Then she’s on him, grabbing at whatever parts of him she can reach. His shoulders, his back, his hair. They manage to make it to the bed, clumsily pulling off clothing as they go, and he’s whispering those three words into her skin over and over like some sort of mantra, like he’s afraid she’ll forget if he doesn’t say it again.

_ I love you, _

_ I love you,  _

_ I love you. _

And she’s far from forgetting. As she writhes in pleasure, she can’t remember her own name, but she remembers his, and she remembers that. As he collapses beside her, he says it one last time, panting and out of breath.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” 

  
  


Jolene knows. Beth isn’t surprised. Of everyone, she figures that of course Jolene would be the one who didn’t have to be told what was going on. As soon as Beth walks in, she breaks into a smile. 

“Well, Cracker?”

“I said it. And then he said it back. And then we did some things that I won’t recount in the middle of a restaurant.”

Jolene cackles, and Beth can’t help but smile too. 

  
  


Benny proposes. It’s not romantic at all, and for a while Beth isn’t sure if it really happened. After a late night chess game, they’re hungry, so Benny makes eggs even though it's around midnight and he can’t cook for shit. They’re sitting at the table eating overcooked scrambled eggs when he pauses his monologue about the Albin Countergambit.

“Let’s get married.” 

He says it so casually that Beth thinks she might be hallucinating. That thought is quickly banished when he slides a ring across the table. Alma’s ring.

She’d told him about it weeks ago, that Beth kept it in a box in a drawer in her dresser even though Alma stopped wearing it after Mr. Wheatley abandoned them. Wordlessly, she slips it on her finger, and he goes back to talking about counterattacks. 

  
  


There is no big wedding. They go downtown to the courthouse and sit on the steps since they’re twelve minutes early, according to Beth’s omnipresent watch. 

“You’ve got twelve minutes to change your mind,” he says. 

“Eleven.” She corrects as the second hand makes it’s way around again.

They wait in silence, hands intertwined, and when they leave the building Beth has an extra last name. 

They don’t mention it right away; they let friends put it together when they notice that Beth now wears a ring as well. Later that year, she wins Paris, slaying her last dragon, exorcising her last demon, or whatever metaphor people use for that sort of thing.  _ Chess Review  _ does another piece on her, and the picture they use is better this time.

The name on the cover reads ‘Beth Harmon-Watts.’

**Author's Note:**

> Well, that was... a ride. Writing this took an embarrassingly long time, so thank you to whoever's reading this.  
> The unnamed piece Beth plays on piano is actually Clementi’s Sonatina in C Major Op. 36 No. 1, specifically the first section. It's fast, but it's easy enough that even someone who doesn't play often could learn it. The title of the work comes from Edgar Allan Poe's 'A Dream Within A Dream,' mostly because I liked the quote but I also felt like it was kind of a callback to the quote I used in the summary.  
> This is my first fic for The Queen's Gambit, so let me know how I did.


End file.
